


Aesthetic Is Pain

by mix_kid_ao3



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Character, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley uses she/her in this one, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Lingerie, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Not female shaped Crowley but femininely identifying Crowley, Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Women’s Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 22:01:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20104291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mix_kid_ao3/pseuds/mix_kid_ao3
Summary: Crowley, feeling feminine, dresses to impress. Women’s clothing is a nightmare though meaning no aesthetic is complete without consequences.





	Aesthetic Is Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is ultimately just an excuse to write Aziraphale kissing the marks push-up bras leave.
> 
> I’m thinking, in order of appearance, Crowley is wearing something like these. 
> 
> https://www.aliexpress.com/i/32880503621.html
> 
> https://us.boohoo.com/high-waist-stretch-vinyl-leggings/DZZ02033.html
> 
> https://poshmark.com/listing/La-Senza-Body-Kiss-BlackRed-Lace-Push-Up-Bra-5ab97ee83800c5163fe25dc8
> 
> I swear to GOD I’m working on It’ll Come I just had some Ideas late at night so this happened

Aziraphale watches as Crowley changes, lounging on the bed while he waits. Her—she had dictated she was feeling rather feminine early that morning—fingers keep accidentally slipping through the holes of her mesh shirt, which Crowley had made abundantly clear was Not Good for the fabric. She pulls it over her head slowly, plucking strings to make sure nothing is too strained and thus won’t rip. 

The angel really can’t wrap his head around why Crowley wouldn’t just miracle her clothes on and off if they take so much effort. Aziraphale may enjoy savoring material pleasures and physical sensations but the care with which his partner is slowly working the extremely tearable fabric over her head seems a bit obsessive, even to him. She seems so enraptured in the process he couldn’t dare stop her. 

She finally works the shirt off with a noise of triumph, giving the fabric a once over to make sure nothing is out of place. Next is the pants: impossibly skintight high-waisted vinyl. Crowley goes through an equally agonizing process separating the vinyl from skin, doing an ungodly amount of shimmying to pry the material away. It makes Aziraphale cringe. 

Finally, Crowley is down to her underwear. She’s wearing a matching set, black with red embroidered flowers, and Aziraphale thinks she looks rather lovely in them. 

He continues to watch, rapt, as her freckled shoulders contort to reach the clasps of her bra. The underwire of leaves red, painful looking lines as she shimmies the push-up off, taking a deep breath for what must have been the first time since she donned the wretched contraption. 

Before Crowley can move to grab the soft T-shirt she had set aside Aziraphale reaches out. He brushes a thumb over the indents in Crowley’s skin, reverent and concerned in the same breath. The demon turns her head to look back at him, eyes bright without obstructive glasses. 

“What are you doing back there, Angel?” She breathes, smiling. 

Aziraphale feels heat dust his cheeks pink. “These marks look rather angry, I must say I’m a bit concerned,” he explains. 

Crowley hums appreciatively and moves to lay on her side in lieu of an answer. Aziraphale makes himself comfortable beside her, massaging away the red lines. They lay together for a long while, basking in each other’s company. Aziraphale places gentle kisses in places where the wire cut especially deep, bathing Crowley in affection. 

The domesticity washes over them both in waves, lulling them until they’re drunk on something soft and floaty. Crowley lets out a soft sigh, hugging Aziraphale to her chest and throwing a leg over his waist. Aziraphale presses another kiss to her sternum as she drifts between sleep and wakefulness. 

“You really should take better care of yourself, my dear. I don’t think the aesthetic is quite worth the trouble,” he whispers.


End file.
